


C'yra: Princess of the Grey

by TypoShifter (Weezelness)



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Dark, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-15 20:45:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19303519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weezelness/pseuds/TypoShifter
Summary: “I don’t want you getting in trouble on my behalf. Just cover for me okay?”“Are you kidding? If you go, I’ll get in trouble anyway. If you want someone to cover, you do it. Shadow Weaver likes you better.”“But Catra—”She cuts Adora off with a wink and a wave goodbye. “Just keep her off my tail. I’ll let you know if I find anything.”Catra decides to investigate the Whispering Woods in Adora's place.





	1. The Burning Village: Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Posting because Nny11 did such a good job and I don't want her efforts to go to waste. She made this soooo much better then what I could have done alone.
> 
> However, warning to all who've traveled beyond the initial click of the title.
> 
> This was an experiment I took with Catra's character. Her and Adora as so vastly different, a switch fic posed a challenge. I thought it would be fun, but it took a lot out of me. I have no intention of writing more for this (even if I have a few ideas) and it does end in a cliffhanger.
> 
> If none of that bothers you, carry on, brave reader. Carry on.

_Fire._

_Smoke._

_Screams._

_Chaos._

_The images are blurry, but the girl doesn’t need her vision to know how she feels. Her body remembers the pain, remembers the fear. She feels herself trembling in the smooth arms of a vague shape. Their voice is the girl’s only anchor to safety, but even that is slowly being burnt away, lapped at by hungry flames like starved hyenas._

_A sad crescent forms on the figure’s face. “It’ll be okay, baby girl,” it said, and the girl knows it’s a lie._

Catra learned long ago not to jolt up or flinch when she gets dreams like these. Her eyes flutter open, as gentle as butterfly wings even as her heart thunders in her chest. She lazily adjusts her tail and curls it around her waist. It had been a while since she’d last had that dream, long enough that she didn’t remember when or even why it had occurred. However, today she was sure it was because of her excursion into the woods.

Something had called to her in the way the motes of light floated like dust in the air. The purple hue of the trees were unique, and it tugged at a hazy apparition of a memory. She wished she could have stayed longer, explored more, discovered something—whatever that something was—but her excitement had clouded her judgment. She raced across the shifting trees with cavalier indifference, nearly taking out her one companion.

 _Idiot. Useless idiot. What would you have done if something happened to Adora? What would have happened if you’d lost her?_ Her internal voices chided her with poisonous contempt, as if the whispers of other cadets and mentors weren’t enough. _Worthless…Second-rate…Lazy…_

Thankfully, she’s brought out of her thoughts as Adora shifts restlessly beside her. She grumbles, nearly kicks her and shifts some more. The weight is comforting, a reminder that she wasn’t lost and Catra hadn’t put her in irreparable harm. Adora shifts again, more so than her usual midnight adjustments, and Catra realizes that Adora is also coming out of a dream. Unlike Catra, Adora had no need to hone her restraint, and she sits up with a gasp. Catra closes her eyes and forces herself to snore lightly. Adora pulls the covers to the side and swings her long legs over Catra’s body. Her foot falls cause a hollow thud on the metallic floor as she walks out of the barracks and Catra finally peaks, opening one eye in time to see a red boot disappear around the corner.

Adora is looking around with her shoulders tense like she’s expecting someone to stop her. Eagerly, Catra deins to fulfil Adora’s expectation.

“Hey, where are you going?”

Adora halts mid step before the voice registers in her mind. She looks back with her blue-grey eyes, anxiety hidden under the determination. “Back to the woods,” she responds. “There’s something I need to figure out.”

Catra is by her side in an instant, hackles raised with a matching pristled tail. “What? You’re not—”

Adora’s hand flies to her mouth as a security drone whines past them. Catra hardly waits until she shoves her away.

“What is wrong with you?” _You almost died out there,_ she thinks but refuses to say. “You’ve been acting weird since we got back. Are you sure you’re not brain damaged?” _What if I lose you this time?_

“Look Catra,” Adora begins, “I know I saw something out there. I just need to get another look. It feels important somehow.”

Catra furrows her brows as Adora speaks. She doesn’t pay attention to the words, as much as the look. Catra knows it all too well. She wishes there was something she could say that would change that look. Etheria knows, she’s tried in the past, but Adora gets dead set on her goals. Catra wants to be angry, but that look also eases her nerves. Adora has never failed before when she had that look, and Catra feels a little better about going back.

Before she realizes it, she’s smiling and takes two confident strides forward. “Sounds good. Let’s go!”

“No.” Adora holds her back by the shoulders with her warm, gentle hands. “I don’t want you getting in trouble on my behalf. Just cover for me okay?”

Catra’s fragile ease shatters, and she grabs Adora by the ponytail, reeling her back behind the mechanical pillar of pipes and wires. _Don’t leave._ “Are you kidding? If you go, I’ll get in trouble anyway.” _I don’t want you hurt._ “If you want someone to cover, you do it. Shadow Weaver likes you better.” _I’d rather it be me, instead of you._

“But Catra—”

She cuts Adora off with a wink and a wave goodbye. “Just keep her off my tail. I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

“Catra...Catra!” Adora is shouting but caution softens the sound. Catra continues to run along the passageway, pretending she didn’t hear.

 

~

 

It doesn’t take long before Catra starts regretting her decision. The Whispering Woods is a different beast from earlier in the day, overgrown shrubbery catching on her toes and arms, spindly vines smacking her face, and boulders tripping her feet at every turn. She doesn’t remember having nearly this much difficulty while she was searching for Adora. Then again, she had been distracted. She doubts even a stray arrow to the butt would have caught her attention. The adrenaline that had coursed through her is long gone, and she’s left with irritation and a possible rash from oily leaves that brushed against the shredded holes in her pants.

_Lost without your owner? Useless. You’re nothing without Adora…_

Catra continues forward, trekking across the foliage. The voices in her head sustain a steady stream of self-deprecation, but it would be a lie to say she didn’t expect it. There was no respite from torment, not for her. Shadow Weaver had worked too hard on poisoning her psyche for it to ever ebb away, and her efforts always cropped up in the quiet moments when Catra was alone.

She slashes at a low hanging branch that splinters into pieces. Then she swipes away vines that dangle from a tree. She kicks at a sapling that breaks through a crack in the ground and angrily yells at the air. Her resolve crumbles like a dilapidated building, lack of sleep and her jaunt through the woods having drained her motivation. She kicks through the shrubbery. Anything that manages to get in her way doesn’t stay for long, quickly decimated by efficient claws and the anguish of mental torment. She rarely has a chance to express herself so outwardly, and the emotions are hot in her veins.

She yells into the silence. “I hate this stupid place! I don’t even know what stupid Adora stupidly wants.”

There’s no response except the ceaseless whisper of the trees and the voices inside her head. They rattle and echo, amplifying and piling on each other until the silence is too loud. Catra bellows out a blood-curdling scream. They do nothing to silence the endless chatter.

“What was that?” A voice, distinctly male and unfamiliar, too clear to be one of Catra’s thoughts, breaks through the panicked insanity that clouds Catra’s mind.

Instantly, her battle senses come back, and she begins a scan of her surroundings. The damage she’s wrought is obvious and undeniable. There was no hiding her presence, but she realizes maybe it was better that way.

She scales the shifting giant, tearing skin from its flesh as she leapt to hidden branches. Two toned eyes, she watches two figures of gold and pink enter the broken ring of her eternal torments. Their allegiance no mystery.

The girl’s glittery bright eyes widen. Her pupils shrink into an ocean of white as a horrified gasp escapes her throat.

“This is awful.” The boy’s brow furrows.

Catra’s lips pull tight across her face, exposing her cusped teeth. She bends her joints and propels herself forward. Gravity and the force she’s applied to the tree rockets her towards the boy’s exposed stomach, and she twists until her legs are pointed out. The ball of her foot connects with a solid thud, and Catra smiles with sadistic glee as he topples to the grass.

She aims the next hook at the purple shrimp and blinks when her foot meets a floating body of sparkle dust. Suddenly, a weight lands on her, plowing her knees into the ground.

Catra gives a vicious buck, unbalancing her adversary enough to shift their positions. The girl exposes herself in an awkward attempt to get up, and Catra lunges at the opportunity to claw her face. She was stopped by a blur of gold in her periphery. It bursts into a net that tangles her limbs and knocks her off her feet.

She hisses and twists, blind panic making her movements inefficient. She rounds on the two Rebellion fighters, one arm barely free of the ropey prison.

The girl wields two pink blobs as if Catra should fear them, while the boy levels a drawn bow at her head. It’s a more effective scare tactic. She still smiles even from her vulnerable position on the green forest floor. She learned how to desensitize herself to the threat of death a long time ago.

“Well, well. Looks like you got me.” She keeps her voice light, and even congratulatory, as she flashes them her fangs. “So what’s the big bad rebellion planning to do now?”

Sparkle Pinks glares and points a finger at Catra’s chest. “Quiet Horde spy,” she hisses. “We’re asking the questions here. How did you make it this far into the Whispering Woods?”

Catra’s eyes roll in their sockets. “You know, I crawled in through the hole in your fences.”

“We don’t have fences,” Arrowhead McFluffhair states, though it comes off more like a question.

“Duh! That’s why I got so far in your damn woods.”

Sparkle’s eye twitches erratically, eliciting a pleased trill in Catra’s gut. “These ‘damn’ woods are under Brightmoon’s protection. You’re lucky you made it as far as you did.”

Catra shrugs nonchalantly. “That’s me. Lucks Mcgee.”

With a huff, Sparkle stands, towering over Catra’s prone form. “That’s it! We’re taking you to Brightmoon, where you will be _properly_ interrogated.”

Catra almost laughs at their antics. She finds Sparkle and Arrowhead about as intimidating as a sack of potatoes, but she had to admit; they were incredibly fun to rile up. Almost as fun as Adora.

Catra sighs. _What a mess...she thinks._ She had no way to escape. The waiting skiff is parked a handful of miles in the opposite direction from Brightmoon, and she has no idea how to contact help. _How am I going to get back now? I hope to Shadow Weaver’s cold heart that Adora's not in too much trouble. Damn it! Stupid cat! Worthless sack of—._

“Come on! On your feet.” Sparkle and Arrowhead had returned from their impromptu huddle, and Arrowhead pulls her up with a gentleness that surprises her.

The only hand that has ever treated her that gently was Adora. Even her other squadmates usually left her to rise or fall on her own. She cast him a wary glance that he returned with a friendly grin. Her stomach twists into anxious, suspicious knots.

 _Don’t trust it. No one else would ever be that kind,_ she reminds herself, _least of all to you…_

 

~

 

Sparkle shimmers, disappears, and reappears a few feet away. She groans, glances at the tablet in her hands, groans again, and repeats the whole cycle.

Catra’s ears twitch with interest at the sight. She’s never been exposed to such benign magic before, and the light show catches her eye as Sparkle flitters from tree to tree.

“You positive we’re going the right way, Glimmer?”

“I know what I’m doing, Bow. Can you please just trust me for once?”

Moreover, their bickering is a fun sideshow, and it keeps her distracted from unpleasant, wandering thoughts.

“You know I always trust you,” Arrowhead asserts, but there’s still hesitancy in his voice, “but I’m starting to get a little freaked out. I pretty much grew up in these woods, and I’ve never even seen this part of them.”

Catra doesn’t know how he can tell when the endless terrain looks similar to the last several miles they’ve covered.

“It’s fine, okay. Just let me figure this out.” Sparkle snaps, not even turning to glance at his direction.

“Okaaay! Touchy.” Arrowhead turns to Catra apologetically. “Sorry about her. Usually, she’s really nice.”

Catra’s brow quirks up in confusion. “Why are you apologizing? I’m the enemy. She’s supposed to act that way around me.”

“I guess, but that doesn’t mean we have to treat our prisoners like…,” he pauses.

“...prisoners?” Catra’s smirk widens.

“I was going to go with inhumane.”

 _Damn bleeding-heart rebels._ “You know that if we were in different positions, I’d be humiliating you with every step you took, right? The Horde would never show you mercy.” As emphatic as Catra was, she didn’t intend to be hostile, for once at least. She was presenting truths, and it shows in the way she keeps Arrowhead’s stare.

The boy just frowns. “That’s why we’re the good guys.”

Catra laughs. She tosses her head back, internally jeering at his naivety. “I’m sure you think so.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Catra doesn’t respond for a moment, preferring the image of blonde hair, straight as the winning shot in the Horde’s Marksman Competition, and blue eyes that shine gray in the secret spaces Catra’s allowed Adora to find. She notes that Arrowhead has the same expression. Like an iron ball covered in silk, soft when they reach out as protectors and champions, but steely in their resolve for morality. They rebuke the injustice they see. Black is black. White is white. Their world is simple.

Catra doesn’t live in that world. Her life has always been doused with gray, one hand clinging to the few light things in her life while the darkness attempts to yank her into its depths.

When Catra looks towards Arrowhead— _No, his name is Bow_ —she feels its familiar call, but it’s weak, like a single strand of yarn. It’s the untenable tugs that happen when Adora starts questioning their lessons, when her curiosity outweighs the safety of her misinformed certainty. She had so many chances to tell the truth—the latest in Shadow Weaver’s manipulation or the illogical holes in Hordak’s propaganda—shatter the illusion of simplicity so that she wouldn’t have to wander through the middle ground alone.

Bow tilts his head in confusion.

She could tell him about his misguided kindness. How Horde soldiers who escaped from merciful jailers were forced into raiding parties, inevitably turning them into killers. Or how innocent lives were lost due to the unnecessarily long war, prolonged in the name of honor, a fact the Horde never failed to capitalize. She could tell him everything.

She forces her self to turn away. “Just that, there are good people in the Horde too.”

He’s about to ask more questions when the cries of Glimmer break them from their conversation.

Bow takes Catra’s bound wrists and jogs them both past the underbrush, making sure that he never pulls too roughly.

The smell hits Catra before she fully processes the scene. It makes her nose twitch as the smell of sulfur overwhelms her. There is rubble and scorch marks in every direction, a village decimated by Horde drones. Their fallen metallic corpses tell the story of their battle. Errant building bones stand at attention with their jagged points, like a somber procession over a place that was once filled with warmth.

Something thumps in her head, bouncing around her skull.

_Fire._

_Smoke._

_Screams._

_Chaos._

She looks away and she squeezes her lids as tightly as she can. Her nails draw blood on the palms of her hands, and her breath comes in heavy and painful. Catra consciously focuses on her diaphragm; on expanding and contracting.

Something roughly tugs at her shirt collar and she meets the furious gaze of Glimmer. “Your people did this!” She pushes Catra forward with all of her strength, bringing her to her knees in front of a cement slab. It stands alone where it was once part of a colorful home’s walls. “This is what you do. You destroy and you poison, you leave nothing behind! This is what you’re a part of, so don’t you **dare** look away.”

“Glimmer!” Bow’s voice barely registers to Catra.

_“It’ll be okay, baby girl.”_

She shakes on the ground and sweat runs down her temple. Her entire body is clammy, and she doesn’t know why. Bow crouches by her side, but his voice is muffled under the gushing of blood in Catra’s ears.

“GET AWAY!” She claws at the air, barely missing Bow as he jerks back. She’s on her feet in an instant, running, barreling through the thick foliage. For once, the voices in her head have stopped, but her body is breaking into a cold sweat so thick, droplets fly with every uneven step. She’s swaying on her feet and it causes her to slam against every tree trunk within a foot of her swerving path. She grunts as one finally knocks her off balance. She’s only made it a few feet, but her heart hammers like a cascade of falling boulders against her ribs.

“WATCH OUT!”

Catra finally notices her surroundings, the edges of her sight coming into focus. She realizes that it’s no tree trunk that’s toppled her.

A ginormous creature was glowing lines of blue over its oily chitin, a monstrous amalgamation that’s been ripped out of an arachnophobic’s nightmare. It chitters in a way that sounds incensed and raises two of its eight legs. It screams a shrill battle cry and attempts to stomp Catra into the dirt.

She rolls backward and jumps out of the way just in time before she’s showered by flying rocks. A sizable chunk nails her in the jaw, causing her to land painfully on her ankle.

The giant beast towers, with its many beady eyes, open maw dripping.

Bow appears in front of her. An arrow is drawn and ready. When he releases, it explodes into a messy green goop that gums the mutant spider’s mouth. It strains for only seconds before the goop breaks.

“AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH.” Glimmer charges with her pink sparkles and Catra groans. It’s woefully ineffective. The giant bug seems confused at best. The girl is hurling her magic like mud pies at an impenetrable wall. All it takes is one sweep of it’s stumpy foot to send Glimmer flying into a nearby tree.

Bow fires another arrow, and this time, it’s a rope that catches on the spider’s tall antenna. He attempts to pull, but it only does so much against an opponent several magnitudes bigger than him. The bug whips its ugly head and tosses his body on his companion.

Catra is furiously rubbing her bindings on a jagged rock, fraying the threads enough for a sharp yank to pull them apart. It’s the perfect opportunity to run. Even at a debilitated pace, the two Rebellion Fighters wouldn’t catch her, not in their state.

Glimmer’s angry war cry draws her notice, and she sees the light blasts that do nothing to keep the spider away.

 _They’re going to die,_ she realizes and grits her teeth. “Damn it,” she whispers, her body yanking her towards the prone duo. “DAMN IT!”

She lunges on the spider’s back and her ankle screams in protest. With a feral hiss, she rakes her claws onto its armored back. The muscles on her fingers and forearm burn from the strain as she pushes her entire body into the attack.

The beast screeches, tries to throw her off, and flails while Catra hangs onto one of its glowing blue fibers. She swings like a monkey from one fiber to the other, until she makes her way to its ugly face, staring into a soft cornea. Triumphantly, she grins like a madwoman, plunging her arm into its eye until she’s elbow deep.

The beast shakes violently, and with her hands indisposed, Catra finds herself dislodged. The last thing she sees is a grey waterfall of blood, coating her in its sticky warmth, and a cold stone that comes very close, very fast, before she’s finally swallowed up by darkness.


	2. The Burning Village: Part 2

_ Fire. _

“It’s not as bad as it looks, but her head might be a problem.”

_ Smoke. _

“It’s not the concussion itself, but there’s a lot of magical manipulation going on up there.”

_ Screams. _

“She’s lucky the only survivor of Halfmoon lives here.”

_ Chaos. _

“Don’t move her. He wants to meet this girl.”

 

~

 

Adora was fidgeting too much. In most other circumstances, she would never dream of being anything less than professional in front of Shadow Weaver, but this is not any other circumstance.

It was over 48 whole hours since Catra had left, and covering for her absence was doing horrendous things to her nerves. Creating excuses weren’t an obstacle—Adora had more than enough experience on that front, and most of the higher-ups learned to accept the arrangement—but the worry, on top of being the only one with the knowledge to  _ be  _ worried, has her walking on eggshells. She barely remembers what they talked about in Force Captain Orientation, but she’s positive everyone sees her obvious distress. It was no surprise when the word was quickly funneled through her chain of command.

Still, Shadow Weaver hadn’t asked about Catra. Shadow Weaver had asked about her, which is why her exclaimed response of  “Catra’s gone!” causes her hands to fly to her mouth and her eyes to bulge.

Shadow Weaver’s mask gives nothing but a slight widening of the eyes before she turns. “Follow,” she instructs, and Adora trails behind until they’re in the room with the Black Garnet.

A pedestal with what Adora presumes as water stands in an eerie light off to the side. Shadow Weaver makes a brusk beeline towards it, casting the sickly green tinge on the bottom of her torn cloak. “What do you mean Catra is gone?” She leans over the pool, dark tendrils moving in agitated whips and lashes.

Adora’s stomach clinches and she draws into herself. “Catra...she...I don’t know where she is,” Adora begins, “I made her go into the Whispering Woods and she hasn’t come back.”

Shadow Weaver doesn’t respond for several long moments. Adora wonders what she’s thinking. Her body language is unreadable, worsened by the expressionless mask that shrouds her entire face. Wispy tendrils curl in a way that feels irregular, and when she speaks, her words are carefully measured and tight.

“For what reason did Catra go into the Whispering Woods?”

“I snuck us out. It was stupid and I shouldn’t have done it, but I ended up seeing something.” Adora grabs at her bicep, squeezing the muscle nervously. She fears looking up at Shadow Weaver and keeps her eyes on the ground. “I don’t know what it was, just that it was really…strange.” Adora shakes her head. “I needed to know and Catra…” She takes a deep breath. “She left to look. I haven’t seen her since.”

The silence that descends on them suffocates Adora. Shadow Weaver gazes into the water with her shoulders tense. “Only one day as Force Captain and you’ve lost a soldier, left with unauthorized absence and lied to your chain of command.”

“I know. I’m sorry, Shadow Weaver. I’ll lead a party out to search for her immediately. It was reckless and stupid—.”

“No.”

Adora tilts her head. “No, it wasn’t reckless and stupid?” She asks.

“No, you won’t be leading a search party to look for Catra in the Whispering Woods.”

“But—.”

“There is a reason missions are handled by your superior officers, Force Captain Adora, and I believe you’ve just stumbled on one of them. It takes better planning than suspicion and an impulse.”

“But, Catra…she’s out there. Something must have happened. We need to find her.” Adora was sure that Catra would have done everything in her power to make it back to the Fright Zone before morning. She would never leave Adora hanging like this, and her absence only spells trouble.

“If retrieval missions were sanctioned every time a soldier went missing under orders, the Horde would never progress in its greater purpose. You will do well to keep the bigger picture in mind.”

Adora’s heart accelerates as her whole body grows cold. She can hardly believe Shadow Weaver’s implications. Adora feels sick. She should have never allowed Catra to leave. Now she was wandering in enemy territory—because Adora couldn’t bring herself to think of the other option—without any means of calling for back-up, without any means of calling for help.

Shadow Weaver places a hand on Adora’s face, lifting her chin so they look eye to eye. Adora’s entire body stiffens to attention. “Your anxiety is not something I take lightly.” She brushes a lock from Adora’s face before she turns, facing the Black Garnet. “Despite being nothing short of a disappointment and a strain on our forces, Catra was my ward as well.”

Adora isn’t sure how she’s supposed to take that. Is she supposed to show sympathy? Is she supposed to offer some kind of comfort to  _ Shadow Weaver _ of all people? It didn’t seem right. Adora had never seen any kindness from Shadow Weaver towards Catra, even when the feline was performing at her absolute best, and the way she speaks as if Catra’s body was already waiting in their morgues causes Adora’s jaw to clench.

“If you care as much as you say, why won’t you let me find her?”

“It’s because you’re both my wards that I refuse to let you go after her,” she states pointedly, “Did I not raise you both to be stronger than this?”

Shame tinges Adora’s face with a light peppering of pink. “We’re stronger together,” she tries, but it’s weak. It’s almost a question rather than the affirmation she wills it to be.

“Stronger together? Possibly, but still strong apart. Or do you doubt Catra’s capabilities?”

Adora’s brows furrow. “No. Of course not.”

“Good.”

Despite the dissatisfaction that throbs in her joints, Adora knows that the subject has closed. Her body slumps heavily, a million phantom pounds resting on her shoulders, and she salutes without her usual sharp movements. She’s just about to turn when Shadow Weaver calls her back.

“Don’t think you’ve escaped punishment.”

Adora hasn’t thought about it, but she should have expected it. Still, she’s too emotionally drained to feel anything except resignation. “Of course not, Shadow Weaver.” She’s expecting extra labor—swabbing the mess hall after meals, dusting the passageways, or scrubbing the latrines—but instead, Shadow Weaver hands her a folder marked TOP SECRET in bold, red letters. Curiously, she flips it open.

The words Rebel Insurgence and Thaymor pop out to her.

“You’ll accompany Lieutenant Major Octavia on this mission. I expect you to learn from her.”

The teen just blinks. She doesn’t know how to process the file she’s been given. Adora flips to another page, one containing coordinates and a map. The confused glaze in her eyes ebb and her head snaps up to meet Shadow Weaver.

“I also expect you to keep your eyes open,” she says.

Adora gives a solemn nod.

 

~

 

_ The heat causes the girl’s eyes to water until everything is orange and red. They’re greedy colors, swallowing the muted browns and vibrant greens she’s come to know. Her mother is holding her body tightly, chest compressing harshly on the woman’s shoulder, making her lungs ache, but she doesn’t dare complain. Even at that young age, she knows it’s not the time. She’s afraid. It hurts to breathe. She can still hear the screams. _

“These threads are strong.”

_ The girl blocks the only sense she can and shuts her eyes as tightly as her little body can manage. Her mother’s ragged breath allows her to focus on something other than the burning village that was her home, taken away in a single moment. _

_ Suddenly, she’s put down and the girl’s trembling tail curls between her legs in a tight ball. _

_ “It’ll be okay, baby girl.” Her mother smiles. Her eyes are like the girl’s, blue and yellow, completely terrified, uncertain and disoriented. “Stay here.” _

“We’re almost there. Hang on, Princess.”

_ Before the girl can say anything, the woman places the metallic headpiece that rests on her forehead over her eyes, transforming her into a giant quadruped. _

_ The girl tries to speak, tries to call her mother back, but she jumps too quickly for the girl to catch her. _

_ So she waits. _

_ And she waits. _

_ And she waits. _

“That’s the last of it.”

_ Even if they carried her headpiece, the people that return aren’t her mother. _

Catra’s eyes flutter open and it’s no longer simple heart palpitations that make her uncomfortable. She can tell she’s been crying from the dampness all over her cheeks and how her nose won’t let her breathe. Her head pounds and she’s uncomfortably warm.

She tosses off the blankets and swings her feet over the edge. She realizes there’s no weight on her head, nothing to keep her bangs from falling over her face in waves of brown. Her headpiece is gone.

_ My mom’s headpiece… _

The thought eases into her mind and slots into place. Answers to questions she’s asked—and didn’t ask alike—rattle in her brain, all neatly wrapped in the confines of her mind, presenting themselves at an overwhelming pace.

Where did I come from?  _ Halfmoon. _

What happened to me?  _ Kidnapped. _

Did I have parents?  _ Yes. _

Why did they give me away?  _ They didn’t. _

Her head hurt, and more than that, her body felt empty. As if the fragmented pieces of her mind borrowed the substance in her chest cavity to piece itself back together. Grief was racing to fill it, a decade too late in a person that was no longer that little girl. The need to weep causes the pain in her head to intensify until Catra doesn’t know if she’s crying about the pain being inflicted on her body or the pain being inflicted on her soul.

“Princess? You’re awake!”

Catra opens a single eye and glances at the familiar stranger. “Sir Tao…” The name comes to her easily, even if the girl only remembers the red-haired magicat as an impossibly strong Command Master Chief with a shiny lapel, held down by medals of accomplishment. Undoubtedly, he was a civilian now. There was nothing on his knitted tunic and age had softened his muscles.

“I can’t believe it’s you.” His eyes water briefly, and he bows. “Princess C’yra.”

Catra’s entire body flinches. The name is ill-fitting and it sours her face. “Don’t call me that,” she snaps. “I’m  **not** a stupid princess.”

“But—”

The door opens a crack, letting a blinding stream of light into the darkened room. Catra raises her hands and inhales through her teeth. Her pupils burn in its blinding ray. She thought it was night but realizes that this place is just heavily curtained.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were still asleep.” It’s Bow’s voice. He’s whispering and Catra couldn’t help but appreciate his consideration. Glimmer is with him, and they tentatively enter the room, shutting the offending daylight away. “How are you feeling?”

“Something between slamming my head against a wall and cradling it in a pillow.”

Sir Tao stands, leaning towards the not-princess. “Here P—C’yra. Allow me to help.”

Catra sighs.  _ It’s a start. _

He squeezes his fist together and Catra wonders if he’s going to punch her into unconsciousness, but when he releases, a bright blue ball is expanding and contracting in his hands. More magic but it’s too close to Catra’s face. Her breath hitches. Every sore muscle tenses. She wants to move away, but she forces herself to stay.

_ Don’t show weakness. Don’t show weakness. Don’t show weakness. _

If anyone else saw her hesitation, they don’t say, and Sir Tao gently places his sizable hand on Catra’s head.

The relief is immediate, and the breath she’d unconsciously held comes out in a gush. With the repose came more memories, good ones, the young girl in her dreams looking happy for once. Catra sees the girl flittering from tree to tree on the hanging vines, or jumping the boulders across a gentle stream. She remembers her mother’s face and her mother’s gentle hands. C’yra’s childhood was a soft affair, filled with too much warmth and kindness. It was no wonder the universe had demanded recompense.

The others in the room look at her with a mix of nervousness and sympathy, and it’s because she opens her eyes with wet lashes and damp cheeks.

_ So much for not showing weakness. Stupid cat. _

She wipes it furiously, stands, and makes her way over to Glimmer with her hands out. The shorter girl raises a brow. “What are you doing?”

“I’m your prisoner, aren’t I?”

Glimmer takes a step back, putting a hand out between them. “That was before I found out you were the lost princess of Halfmoon.”

Catra grunts. “Will everyone stop saying that? As if the lost princess of a dead kingdom holds any value. I was a Horde soldier for more of my life than I was some namby-pamby princess.”

“Because your mind was tampered with. Are you really saying you would have willingly accepted the Horde’s indoctrination if you knew what they did from the beginning.”

Catra shoves Glimmer’s hand and presses her face forward until they were centimeters away. “Considering there weren’t many options, probably, yeah, I would have.” Catra wouldn’t have—she would have fought with everything inside her until the Horde found her too uncooperative and killed her outright—but she didn’t care. She was frustrated and she wanted to say the words that would frustrate Sparky too. She wanted to share the frustration with someone. It was better than feeling grief. At least frustration was familiar.

Sir Tao’s broken whisper breaks the verbal showdown. “Princess, no.”

Catra rounds on him with the fire that haunts her nightmares coming to the forefront of her face. “I’M  _ NOT _ AN ETHERIAN DAMNED PRINCESS.”

“Okay.” Bow walks forward with an imploring look in his eyes. “We just…,” he pauses as if he wasn’t quite sure what they wanted, “we just wanted to make sure you were okay.” His tone sucks the bite out of her words and she hates that he sounds genuine. It was easier when she could pretend Adora was the only decent human on all of Etheria.

Catra looks down to her toes and flexes them against the wooden floorboards. “Yeah, well, I’m fine.”

“Okay. That’s good. Why don’t we get some food in you then? You’re probably starving.”

Sir Tao stands, nodding his head vigorously. “Yes, we have many leftovers from yesterday’s festivities, and if there’s nothing to your liking, I’m more than happy to…”

“Thanks but no thanks. I’ll eat what’s there.” Catra deadpans.

Sir Tao sighs but keeps his rigid posture. “Of course.” He opens the door, and Catra realizes that it doesn’t hurt as much when she stares out into the bright afternoon. He leads them out into the rustic living space in a quiet procession.

Now that Catra was better, she was more than equipped to run. She isn’t sure what direction she would run to, or if Glimmer would jump her the instant she made a move, but all the “niceness” was putting her on edge. A burning need was making her fur itch. She misses home, her  _ real _ home. She misses Adora.

Sir Tao starts to pass Bow and Glimmer bowls and bowls of colorful food that draw on her memories. Melons. Plums. Beans. It was crazy to think she’d forgotten so much.

Sir Tao hands her a plate. “This was your favorite before. Do you remember?”

Tuna. Catra presses her lips into a thin line. It’s still her favorite. The Horde serves it on occasion, only as dried product mushed together in a flavorless heap, but it is still her favorite. “I do now,” she says tightly.

She places the dish on the table with the other bowls and pushes it away. She would never be able to look at the Horde’s version of tuna the same again, and it was funny how that one simple fact causes Catra to loathe her returned memories.

~

Minutes later, Catra returns to her room, leaving the three to converse. It was obvious how badly they wanted to talk about her and Catra was more than willing to oblige. All she wants is to be left alone. The only problem was she could still hear every word through the walls of Sir Tao’s little hut.

“It’s to be expected. Mental dissonance along with the trauma…I’m surprised she woke up after a mere day.” Catra notes how Sir Tao’s gravelly baritone carries the best.

Bow’s is only slightly fainter. “So what do we do now?”

“I don’t know Bow.” And, despite being the hardest to make out, Glimmer’s voice is smooth when she talks. “My mom says Halfmoon and Brightmoon have always been allies. I thought C’yra would be happy to help after she got her memories back, but she’s right. She’s been a Horde soldier far longer than she’s been a princess.”

“They destroyed our home,” Sir Tao interjects, “they killed her mother when she was a child. Our queen was slaughtered as our kingdom burned.”

Catra buries her hands in the folds of her borrowed clothes. They hang too loose and are far too soft, but Catra’s first choice still reeks of spider blood. She twists the foreign material until it’s close to ripping.

Glimmer’s voice drops an octave. “I think she’s made it clear that it doesn’t bother her as much as you think it should.”

“I don’t know Glimmer,” Bow sounds contemplative and Catra’s mind can clearly picture the valley his furrowed brows make on his forehead, “There are good people in the Horde too,” he says, testing each syllable on his tongue.

“What does that mean?”

Catra’s tail whips wildly. She can’t take listening to their roundabout conversation anymore and leaves before Bow can respond to Glimmer’s question.

“You saw how she was acting while they were taking the magic bindings off of her memories. I’m sure what happened affected her, but maybe there’s something  _ in  _ the Horde she doesn’t wanna leave behind.”

Catra had already drawn the curtain as she jumps through the window. She instantly realizes why Sir Tao has picked this particular village after Halfmoon’s demise. They’re remarkably similar, from the primitive dirt paths to the mud huts with grass roofs. There didn’t seem to be a rush for anything. The women frequently stop on their routes, speaking amicably with whoever they passed. Children are running amok with bright grins as they play. The men often look up from their work to greet whoever gave a wave or casual glance. Catra sticks out like a sore thumb, not because of her ears or tail as she’s turned accustomed to, but because her movements are rigid. She walks too fast and her eyes are too focused. She has a difficult time returning the friendly greetings.

“Woah, your eyes are weird.”

Catra’s head turns, a glare ready on her face, but the recipient is a young child with little antler points, not yet developed. A satyrian. He hides behind a robust tree that’s brimming with fresh fruit. His evident curiosity blocks him from Catra’s annoyance. She’s about to release a flurry of curses when a woman takes him by his furry ear.

“That’s wildly impolite,” she admonishes. Catra eyes the woman and immediately pegs her as the mother. “My apologies. My son can be quite a handful sometimes, but he means well. I assure you.” The woman smiles at her gently.

Catra’s heart immediately lurches with longing, and she can only look away with annoyance. Only part of it is towards the pair. “Whatever,” Catra mutters.

The woman doesn’t seem perturbed at Catra’s abrasive demeanor. “You’re new to this village, aren’t you? Where are you from?”

Catra wants to answer with her trademark sneer and a “none of your business,” but C’yra’s mother always told her to respect her elders. Her mother’s kind visage seems to overlap with this stranger for a moment and Catra feels herself say, “Halfmoon. I’m from Halfmoon, Ma’am.”

The woman’s eyes turn sympathetic. “I see.” She absently runs her fingers through the boy’s errant locks. “We were from Erlandia before the Horde took over. We’re lucky Thaymor is a welcoming village.”

Catra fidgets as she remembers the celebrations that rang through the halls of the Fright Zone. Erlandia had been an instrumental capture for the Horde. Its place by the bay allowed for a valuable port for supply lines. 

“Yeah, Thaymor’s okay. I’m still sorry for what happened to Erlandia,” Catra says, and she finds herself meaning it. Halfmoon had been toppled by bot fire, but she wonders if Erlandia was overrun by swarms of platoons.

The stranger places a hand on Catra’s shoulder and squeezes it for comfort. It’s different from Bow’s or Adora’s hands. The stranger’s slender digits are soft, undamaged by training and battle. Civilian hands. Catra marvels at how soft a person’s hands can truly be. 

“Are you staying here?”

Catra blinks out of her stupor. “Uh, no. I’m just passing through.”

“Oh, that’s a pity, but while you’re here, I recommend visiting the plaza.”

“The plaza?”

The woman nods vigorously. “Yes, the festivities are over, but there’s still some performers who’ve decided to play an encore before they pack up until the next celebration.”

Festivities. Celebrations. Performances. The words throw Catra’s brain into chaos and she feels her head throb.

_ She remembers C’yra on her mother’s lap as they look down from their castle. The dancing crowds never fail to put a smile on the little girl’s face. She loves all the celebrations where the air turns electric with excitement. A few of the times C’yra took part, and the villagers beam at her, they make comments like: “We’re lucky for such a bright little princess.” and “We expect you’re destined for greatness, your Highness.” She believes them. _

_ How utterly absurd. _

“Are you alright?” The stranger is staring at her.

Catra must have been zoning out. She takes in a deep breath to steady herself before nodding. “Yes, I’m fine. I’ll take your recommendation about the plaza. Thank you.” She turns around quickly and begins to walk with her fast militaristic purposefulness.

“O-okay. We’ll see you there.”

Catra doesn’t bother looking back. She doesn’t actually intend to go to the plaza. She was afraid of what her mind would dredge up if she saw the people in their happy lives, but her sensitive ears were picking up a string of notes in the air. She followed it like a siren called sailor.

_ C’yra loves music. Truthfully, the little girl loves all forms of art, but the way music makes her heart thrum so effortlessly is her favorite. _

When the crowd gets too thick for her liking, Catra finds a tall roof to listen from above, closing her eyes to better block the noise pollution.

She began to recall a million details. There was a squeaky, spring-like sound that injected its notes in the air in quick little motions. Its fast movement makes her smile. Her mother called it an accordion. It’s accompanied by a tra…tram….tam…tambourine! Yes, that’s what it was called. Its tinny noises are a bright rhythm, shivering in the warm afternoon air. One of her favorite instruments plays long and sweet, a violin, it carries a jubilant melody. The villagers are clapping and their dance echoes the song.

Catra giggles, and for a moment it sounds younger and happier. Catra can almost imagine it coming from C’yra, the bright little princess of Halfmoon.

“You look like you’re having fun.”

It doesn’t take Catra long to recognize the voice, but she is slightly annoyed by the owner’s intrusion. “I was.”

Glimmer takes a seat beside Catra, their legs dangling off the side as the setting sun begins to silhouette their forms. The After-Celebration celebration is still in full swing and Catra finally manages to look down at their happy faces.

“So, what were you thinking about?” Glimmer begins, awkwardly.

Catra’s eyes reach for the stars before dropping to the ground. “If you’re just going to make small talk, I’d really rather not.”

“It’s not small talk,” Glimmer rebuts, “it was a serious question. You look like you’re really thinking about something.”

Catra shrugs. “A lot comes to mind when your childhood is released from some kind of magical hold. What did you come here for, Glimmer?”

The pretty, pink-and-purple princess brings her hands together, interlaces her fingers, weaving the digits before releasing to rub her palms against each other. “Why won’t you leave the Horde?”

Catra scoffs and turns with a mocking smile. “I. Am. A. Horde.  _ Sol-dier, _ ” she says, her words coming out deliberately. She punches each syllable with force. “I stay in the Horde.”

Glimmer’s nervousness evaporates and she’s left with a deadpan expression overlaying a desire to throttle the not-princess. “Then why did you save Bow and me? For a Horde soldier, that was stupidly self-sacrificial.”

Catra’s jaw tightens as the one thought she’s successfully avoided barrels through her like a loose battering ram. The teen faces away from Glimmer. “I really shouldn’t have done that.”

“But you did. Why?”

The music has picked up its pace. The accordion takes the forefront, the violins plucking staccato, casting the villagers in a blur of color. They spin and roll, their fancy dresses puffing out like blooming flowers.

Catra frowns, and she can tell Glimmer’s had enough of her deflective answers. “It’s the one thing that’s been on my mind since we got here.” She starts when Catra takes too long to respond. “And it’s been getting more and more confusing the longer I watch you. Why are you so loyal to something that hurts innocents?”

Catra’s eyes flicker with fire. “Innocents aren’t my problem.”

The callousness of Catra’s response barely phases Glimmer. “Then why are you loyal to something that hurts you?”

Catra’s eyes are bulging when they round on Glimmer.

The Brightmoon princess smiles at her, lightly teasing. “You’re not a quiet sleeper.”

Catra balls her hands into a fist before cracking half of a smile. “You got me there.” She sighs and angles her body towards the setting sun, pulling up her knees so that she can wrap her tail around her whole body. “I’m not loyal to the Horde. It can burn like the rest of Etheria for all I care.”

“Then…”

“I made a promise.”

Glimmer stays silent.

Catra draws in a shaky breath, chilled by the steadily cooling air. A stray breeze blows across the rooftops and rustles the fur on her ears. “If everything else in my life falls apart, I wanna keep my promise.”

The sun finally sets over the tallest trees and Catra decides to jump to a low hanging eave. She only grunts when she remembers her sprained ankle.

“Hey!” Glimmer calls to her before she has a chance to walk away. “You never answered my question.” Catra turns back curiously, her eyebrow raises. “Why did you put your life in danger when you could have just left?”

Catra adjusts the loose clothes around her torso, patting it down as she mulls the question over. She was starting to like how the fabric flows so smoothly. Finally, she meets Glimmer’s eyes. “I know what it’s like to think you and your best friend might die.” She tests the answer as she says it. It feels right enough. “It’s not fun.”

Something shifts and her mouth form’s a little ‘o.’ When Catra blinks, Glimmer is beside her again, an afterglow of shimmering light dissipating from her form. She takes Catra’s hands in her own. “You’re …kind of amazing, you know?” There’s a twinkle in her eyes that’s shiny and bright, raising Catra’s internal temperature by several degrees.

Catra hadn’t noticed it before—mostly because Glimmer’s face had been scrunched down in a glare or a frown—but so close and grinning, the feline couldn’t help but admire the soft features. Glimmer had a kind face.  _ Etherian Hell… _ “Ummm.”

Glimmer looks down where the pads of Catra’s fingers rest in her palm. “I know you’re still part of the Horde, but you’re not loyal to them. You have every reason to hate them, so if there was a way you can stay in and still help, would you?”

Glimmer stares at Catra dead in the face, and Catra doesn’t know if she wants to look away or get lost in the strange hue of Glimmer’s pupils. No one had purple irises in the Horde. It makes it difficult to breathe, another tally on how many times her breathing came in short and labored in the past two days, but she still forces herself to respond. “W-what are you thinking?”

Glimmer’s face lights up, but not because she gets to answer Catra’s question.

An explosion behind Catra pulls them apart, and they round on the crater that was once filled with music and laughter.


End file.
